Journal of Jack Marston
by GrimReaperJr1232
Summary: A journal passed on from brother to brother, and then father to son.
1. Chapter 1

**This story is exactly what it says on the tin. Each chapter is basically an excerpt of Jack's theoretical journal from 1911 to 1914. I should say this now: I probably won't be able to maintain the accent and improper language they use, but I will TRY.**

 **Seeing how each chapter is a journal entry from Jack, the chapters will probably be pretty short. Without further ado, let's get this started…**

* * *

Dug around in some of Pa's old things and found this journal, and Pa always said he was only "semi-literate." He must've had this journal for a while. The last few pages are about his and Ma's wedding say and Aunt Sadie and Uncle Charles leaving.

Though, I guess it shouldn't really call this his journal. Looking back at the earliest pages, it belonged to an "Arthur Morgan." That name... Wait, is this _Uncle_ Arthur's? Damn, this thing _is_ pretty old. I'm surprised there still a whole lotta pages left.

It's been about a month now since we buried Pa. Ma barely leaves the house anymore. Sometimes, I catch her standing by the window, looking outside with a slight little smirk on her face just like some years back whenever Pa went out. Then, I watch as her face crumbles when she remembers that Pa isn't just gone—he ain't ever coming back.

Without Pa, that leaves me to do all the work around the ranch. I can't even count the amount of shit I've shoveled by now. Pa always told me that one day the ranch would be mine and I'd have to take care of it, but…

I'm keeping some of Pa's old guns in my room. After last month, I won't be taken off-guard by those bastards again. Thy already took him, but they better think twice before trying to take her too. I might not be a great shot, but if any come, I'll be sure to bring more than a few of them down with me.

Stupid, they'd probably gun me down in seconds like they did him. And then, Ma won't have just outlived her husband—she'd be burying her son too.

So what am I supposed to do?

* * *

 **Like I said, the chapters are short. Each one will prolly just be a few hundred words (I'll be amazed if any even reach 700). Anyhow, how's the first one? There potential? Do I talk too much in the AN/s? Are the short chapters that annoying?**

 **And yes, it's Arthur's journal. How? This is assuming the John stopped updating it soon after RDR2's epilogue (seeing how we never see it in RDR1). Maybe I'm pushing it there, but whatever.**

 **Update: Fixed an oversight. Jack DOES remember Arthur in RDR2 epilogue, I just didn't see that scene until later. That's what I get for being an absent father.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Note for future reference: if you see any underlined words, think of them as crossed out instead (like what Arthur and John often did in RDR2). FF doesn't let me** _ **actually**_ **cross them out, so I'm letting you all know.**

* * *

I started hunting a lot more now.

Rufus likes to help me out with that. I guess I got lucky that at least he got out of all that unscathed without dying. None of us got out of that the same. He's gotten a lot quieter, and outside of hunting trips, I don't even see him run around no more.

And Ma, she won't even speak. Last time I saw her like this was when sis died years ago. Pa decided to stop going out for a while after that, and he always seemed to know just the thing to lift her spirits—even if just by a little. Even Uncle laid off the whiskey for her sake, maybe that's the time he started becoming so grouchy too?

I guess that makes me the screw up here. Rather than being with her, I just find myself killing some poor animal. I don't think it's the killing I want; rather I just want some excuse to shoot something. I just… I don't know anymore.

Pa always said he was only good at shooting, and I… I just feel like this is the only way I can feel like he ain't gone—not completely anyway. He probably wouldn't approve, not like this anyway. She won't say it, but I know Ma doesn't either.

* * *

I caught a couple lawmen arresting some fella today, something about a drunken assault or something like that. The law used to make me feel safe—at least, when I was with Ma or if Pa was having one of his good days—but now… now I just can't help but fight the urge to run away. If not that, then fighting to keep my mouth closed to avoid getting shot.

I just don't get it.

They were the law, weren't they supposed to be the good guys right? That's how they always are in the stories I've read. Pa… the things he had done in the past would've made him the bad guy in those, but he put that life behind him. Not just that, he even made a deal so that he could finally be free from everything he'd done. Usually in the stories, the gunslinger is the one who turns his back on the deal.

But Pa… he did everything right. He kept his word. But the law? They just shot him like some rabid dog. Not just him, but Uncle too. And for what? So that the bastard Edgar Ross would forever be immortalized as the man who took down the last members of one of the West's most infamous gangs and finally tamed the Wild West. I've read the papers (not to Mama, god knows what that'd do to her), he's gotten all the credit for everything; killing Uncle Bill, Ha Javier, Dutch… and Pa.

Once upon a time, Pa used to say reading was a stupid hobby. In the stories, Edgar Ross would be a hero and a savior. I guess he was right—hearing that is the biggest lie I've ever heard. And all those years I spent reading all those books and filling my head with that nonsense? I'm the biggest fool there ever was.

* * *

I came across some weird old man today. He acted like he was some sort of prophet or something.

I have him some money I had left after going into town, and he said something weird like, "in the end, it'll give you nothing."

Crazy old man.


	3. Chapter 3

Finally got her speaking again, for whatever that's worth.

She still don't talk all that much, but it's better than nothing. I never thought I'd be happy to hear her yell at me to get my feet off the sofa. It's not much, but I'm glad to hear her voice again.

I find myself reading this journal more and more—the pages written by Uncle Arthur, Pa, even my own at times. It's funny how it all ended, in a way. Pa always hated it when Uncle brought up their days in the gang, but he hated it most whenever Uncle Arthur was brought up.

I only thing I heard was that we owed him everything, and now I finally get why. He was on the verge of death, but he made sure that we were able to start over, and finally get out of that life—me especially, seeing how I was never given much of a choice.

But then came Edgar Ross to ruin everything. Because of him, everything Uncle Arthur fought for was for nothing. Everything—giving Pa a chance to start over, letting us live a nice, quiet and happy… it's all gone now.

I doubt the others from the gang were let off the hook. I don't remember them too well, but I know that a few managed to get out before it all went to hell. Charles and Sadie should be fine, provided they stay out of the country like they said they would, but Mary-Beth, Tilly, Pearson, and the rest?

It might actually just be us now. I can't tell if the government is just overlooking Ma, or if they're just going to let a bounty hunter come in some day and do the job for them.

The only one left is me. I couldn't have been more than four at the time the gang dissolved, so I'm the only one who wasn't a criminal. Arthur, Pa, everyone in the gang was fighting for me in a way so that I could live a better life than them.

The gang thought that they'd bring me up in the land where people were "truly" free and away from eastern civilization. But then, Uncle Arthur and Pa fought hard to make sure I'd be a proper law abiding citizen (look at me; I'm so childish I still call the man my uncle). I wanted to be a writer, while Pa wanted me to inherit the ranch one day—I guess that's a good dream to have.

But dreams are just that—dreams. There's no escaping your past. No matter how hard you fight, how much you change, or what you do to prove it to yourself and others, it'll always come back to tie a noose around your neck.

No matter how hard I try, I can't do it. I can't keep living— I can't… I don't know. Everything used to be so easy for me. I can't stand reading these damn books anymore. The only way I feel good for a few moments is if I murder and butcher some animal, and then I'm greeted by the look on my mother's face.

Pa, Uncle Arthur, I'm sorry. I tried—I tried so hard—to keep it together. I keep trying, and trying, and trying but the more I do, the harder is just seems to get, and it's all that bastard's fault! I don't even know how to take care of this ranch properly, two of the cows just died yesterday and I don't know why!

I'm just… tired of all this. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know how I'm going to keep this place going, or if I even can. The only reason we haven't starved is because I go out hunting so much.

I don't know what to do. I just keep hoping that one day I'll wake up and it'll all be a nightmare.


	4. Chapter 4

Today just might've been the most terrifying day of my life.

I was just coming back from another hunting trip with Rufus, when suddenly I see this group of three to four men outside the house. I asked them what they wanted, and they asked if I was "John Marston," but I told them he was dead. But they said no, and clarified by saying "John Marston Junior." I asked them who wanted to know.

They said they didn't want any trouble with me, but they wanted to know if I'd seen my mother. I drew the gun on them right then and there. Of course I did—some idiot I am. They just laughed, and the one of them took the gun right from my hands before they both started beating me to pulp. I might've died had Mama not come out when she did, begging them not to kill me.

The bastards were about to leave me there—wheezing and coughing—and then take her, when suddenly some weird old man came. He demanded they let the two of us go, and the men just drew their guns, threatening to shoot if he didn't turn around.

The old man drew his gun and shot each and everyone one of their guns out of their hands in what I swore was just a second. I don't think even Pa could've done something like! I swear I could see one of the poor bastards piss themselves as they went running off to hills scared.

I didn't catch the man's name, but he told us to come to him if anyone like that gave us anymore trouble, and that he was staying in Blackwater for the time being. Mama thanked him for helping us, but said it weren't no trouble. He also said if I was John Marston's boy, and I told him I was. He said he knew my father before leaving, saying something about having some poker game.

Mama kept fussing over me all day. In a way, it's great to see her back nagging at me again. Me? I just kept looking out the window in case any of those men came back. If those men are there, it meant I was right—Ma has a price on her head. And it that meeting from earlier meant anything, it also shows I ain't ready to fight anything that can shoot back.

So, Blackwater huh? If he could shoot like that, I wonder what else he could do…

* * *

 **Just saying, this isn't an Ass-pull. From what I've heard/read, it's hinted that you-know-who taught Jack a trick or two before dying. If that's the case, no wonder Jack was as good as his old man when he was just 19 years old.**

 **Why am I even talking like this? Anyone who's played RDR 1 knows who this is? Eh, screw it, I guess I'll play dumb.**

 **Fun Fact: The fic was originally called "Jack's Journal." Why the change when they're the same thing? Because FF kept putting it as "Jack/s Journal" for some reason. I did check, and nope, it wasn't a typo or a fluke. Hence, the slightly longer name.**


	5. Chapter 5

**This is more like a collection of short diary entries, so prepare for that.**

* * *

Holy shit!

Landon Ricketts…

Landon goddamn Ricketts!

I knew Pa had met a lot of strange fellers, but… holy shit! I was saved and talked to Landon Ricketts! He just might be the last living legend out here in the West, and he's offering to teach me?

God, I feel like a child all over again.

I'm in so much shock I'm struggling to find the words to write into this journal! I never thought I'd be so excited about shooting…

* * *

First lesson was a bit more mundane than I expected. Then again, last time I tried biting off more than I could chew, I nearly got mauled to death.

We rode a fair distance away to avoid disturbing anyone in the city, which ain't much of a surprise, but he just had me standing a few feet away shooting at some bottles and cans. Of course, it was here that I got to make a fool of myself.

My time hunting had taught me how to use a gun without hurting myself, but that's about all I could say. Even though I was just a few feet away, I just kept missing over and over again. Mr. Ricketts even took a look at the gun just to be sure there weren't nothing wrong with but, but lo and behold, it were me that was the problem.

Mr. Ricketts didn't seem to bother by it though. He said that he half-expected for end up putting one in my foot or end up losing control and making the thing hit me in the face. Something tells me if he met me a few months back, he might've been right.

* * *

I am writing this so that I may remember a valuable life lesson until the day I die.

The next time I gain the idea of hunting small animals alone as a way to practice shooting, do it on rabbits or an animal that I am very familiar with.

I never knew badgers could put up so much of a fight. Maybe I should've just gone with the birds?

* * *

I never thought I'd say this, but nothing felt me up with more pride than seeing me pull the trigger of that revolver and hitting those cans. (it still sounds ridiculous!)

Mr. Ricketts said that now that I can hit my targets, I gotta learn how to take them out quickly. Your opponent won't wait for you to ready yourself, so you have go from one target to the other as quickly as you can without sacrificing accuracy.

I used to think shooting was just a dumb hobby that any idiot could do. I think it'd be best if I never let Mr. Ricketts know that.

* * *

I'm starting to think Ma is angry with me. I made it no secret that I've displayed interest in learning how to shoot so that I may defend myself, but I fear that she believes I'm displaying too much interests.

I suppose I cannot fault her for that. What I'm doing brings me a step closer to a road she's afraid I'll cross, and the thought of it terrifies her.

But this is something I need. I can't sit by and watch her be in danger like that again. Every time I think about giving up, I'm just reminded of the taste of my own blood and my face in the dirt.

Farm's pretty much gone at this point, Pa's gone, Uncle's gone; I can't lose anything else.

* * *

 **Considering that (from what I've heard) it's hinted the LR taught Jack in the timeskip in RDR1, I'm just left wonder how the hell that happened in-canon.**

 **Hey, what're your views on Jack anyway? I heard a lot of people don't like him. Personally, I view him as a bit of a wasted character that could've been good… if he actually had an arc or literally anything to develop. I mean, hell, it's hard looking at him in RDR2 once you remember where he ends up. It's telling that a lot of people are praying the GTA V easter egg is canon so that someone has some sort of happy ending... eventually.**


	6. Chapter 6

Cain, you were a good boy, weren't you? We never did find out where you came from, did we?

No, but you stayed with us—with me—for weeks, or was it months? My perception of time back then weren't what it is now.

After Uncle Hosea and Mama said I was done with my lessons, I always liked playing with you. I liked to think that you were my best friend at the time, and I yours.

But then, you were taken away, weren't you? I didn't understand, but I think even then, I knew. We were friends, weren't we? There was no way you would just walk away.

No, you were taken away. Isn't that right, Rufus? I just take my eyes off of you for two seconds, and poof— both of you were gone.

It's funny, what people do when they're drunk. I mean, I didn't see it happen to either of you, but the inebriate always seem to leave… hints.

Of course, he didn't both hiding what he did to you, now did he, Cain? No, I was just too young to understand.

They weren't though. No, when I found you in the woods Rufus, I could see the trail plain as day; the trail leading me to the same bastards who would have beaten me dead a few months back. They knew they couldn't hurt me or Mama with Mr. Ricketts around, but an animal? Not worth it.

Wolves, coyotes, and foxes—all dogs, all of which make for the perfect excuse. It were just another drunken hunting accident, right?

Shame though, they must have gotten some sort of disagreement. Maybe it was drunken rage or some stupid game, but they ended up all shooting each other dead at their camp, away from any responsible folk who might've stopped them. Get the right positioning of the bodies and empty the cylinders a bit and you don't even need to launch an investigation.

Lawmen, what a bunch of lazy, lying bastards. Tell a few lies here and there, make everything seem like it was well handled, and no one cares. All that matters is that everything is "civilized" and you can take the truth to the grave.

Like last night, when I was carrying Rufus home, I had a few more truths that I'll take to my grave. The look in her eye says Mama has it too, and maybe Ricketts will figure it out.

I did learn one thing though: Don't drink alcohol so close to someone who might want to kill you.

* * *

 **Maybe not my best chapter, but I like I did it well enough. Can I get an F for poor Rufus though? I mean, there has to be SOME reason he disappeared in canon, right?**

 **I think I might've made Jack come off as a bit of a Sociopath. Eh, he's a poor guy grieving who just lost his friend to the guys who beat the shit outta him. I think guilt might be a little delayed.**


End file.
